


Into the Clouds

by Unusual_Raccoon



Series: From the Beginning [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Episode: s01e15 Dodger, Episode: s01e20 Home Invasion, Episode: s01e23 Sacrifice, F/M, Flirting, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Laurel Lance is the Black Canary, No Pre-Canon Cheating, Sara Lance Does Not Exist, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29031354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unusual_Raccoon/pseuds/Unusual_Raccoon
Summary: This is the sequel to Before I Fall, which I highly recommend you read first for continuity.After coming clean with Oliver in Ted's gym, Laurel figured it would only be a matter of time until she felt the consequences of her actions. The truth has a way of changing things and Laurel soon discovers that her life is no exception.
Relationships: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Series: From the Beginning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129745
Comments: 30
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, first off I just wanted to say hi, I went on a little break, but I am thrilled to be back writing and sharing stories once again.
> 
> This first chapter takes place during the episode "Dodger", though it likely won't have much in common with the actual episode. It's funny when you trim characters like Sara and Felicity from the plot how much wiggle room there is.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this first chapter.

Laurel let out a sigh as she undid the zipper of her jacket, shrugging off the leather to examine the blow she had been dealt. She could hear the sharp intake of breath over her shoulder as she cautiously lifted the thin material of her undershirt to reveal an ugly bruise. It was a mottled dark bluish purple where it spanned over her ribs in the rough shape of a boot.

“I should’ve been faster...” She heard Oliver swear quietly, a clear disappointment in his voice, and more pressingly disappointment in himself.

Laurel couldn’t quite hold in her snort, despite the way it made her side ache. It was sweet that he was taking the blame, but getting distracted had been a rookie mistake on her part - not his. She made a quick motion with her hand and Oliver slid the window that they had entered from, shut.

“It’s not your job to protect me, remember?” She teased, watching as he eased off his hood. It was still surreal seeing his face beneath  _ that  _ hood, blue eyes smudged with grease paint, the sharp cut of his jaw dotted with stubble. Shaking her head, blonde tresses shaking, she settled on heading towards the kitchen for some ibuprofen.

Laurel could feel his gaze lingering on her as she pulled off her platinum blonde wig, a few bothersome pins jabbing against her head as she let her sweat dampened hair down. Scrubbing her nails over a few sore spots on her head as she rummaged through the meager medicine cabinet.

“I know.” Oliver said quietly, his broad form lingering behind her, an earnest quality in the way he rocked on his heels.

“Besides, it was my bust.” Laurel tacked on, he’d popped up the Glades, again, thankfully sans a bullethole this time around. And it was hard not to get swept up in watching him work. Laurel supposed she’d always been appreciative of the “hood’s” skills, yet it was an entirely different experience knowing the man beneath said hood was also her ex-boyfriend that she’d held a torch for all these years. Of course, the distraction had landed her a boot to the gut…

“I know.” Oliver echoed with a sigh, tossing his bow and quiver on her coffee table.

Her on and off flirting with the other vigilante had been fun, which in hindsight made so much more sense now, and their semi-professional relationship had been beneficial, especially when she had her hands full, but knowing it was  _ him _ was...exciting, and beneath that, terrifyingly arousing. There weren’t a lot of guys that could keep pace with her. But he could, he certainly could...

Needless to say after their little confession in Ted’s gym, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, about Oliver, about the hood…the label didn’t matter so much, seeing as they were one and the same.

Unscrewing the cap to the bottle of painkillers, Laurel shook two into her palm before topping the bottle once more and tossing it blindly over her shoulder. Her smile went wide at the rattle of the bottle, not colliding with the hardwood floor, but rather being caught, because of course he caught it…

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” She heard him grumble, rolling her eyes, not yet bothering to face him.

“I saw you take a couple hits out there too.” Laurel shot back as she filled a glass with some tap water. Swallowing the pills with a sip of water, her lipstick leaving a dark smudge against the rim.

“Laurel, really-” He began, only to fall quiet when she had pressed the glass of water into his other hand.

“Fine.” He acquiesced quietly, the pills clattering in the plastic bottle as he deposited two in his gloved hand as well, before swallowing them dry, apparently being obstinate was something that hadn’t changed in the five years Oliver had been adrift.

Laurel had pulled off her mask, picking at the little bits of adhesive at the corners of her eyes that kept the thing in place. Tossing it to join her abandoned wig on her coffee table, alongside Oliver’s bow and quiver. It was a funny sight to behold, god forbid the cops busted in, they’d both be dead to rights, but still the sight was a pleasant one. Not exactly the domestic future she had dreamed of when she was twenty-two and in love.

Settling down on the couch, Laurel smiled as she felt Oliver draw near, stiffly sinking into a cushion beside her. Staring back at him where he sat by her side, it wasn’t so long ago that they had been in a similar position. Shortly after he had come back home, with ice cream and a shaky smile, like an archaeologist, unearthing what remained of their relationship that she had buried in her grief.

“Sorry, I don’t have any ice cream.” Laurel admitted with a faint smirk, enjoying the way his lips inevitably twitched into a grin as well. It seemed like a lifetime ago since the Chinese Triad had busted into her apartment, and she had narrowly maintained her cover by cowering and flinging herself into Oliver’s arms…

Pretending, always pretending to be weak and feeble, some fragile creature for people to protect, for her father to protect. It felt  _ good _ to drop the act, at least for a little while.

“That’s alright.” Oliver assured, that vague stiffness in his limbs easing a little bit.

“Probably better that I don’t have any more of a reason to stay.” He said with a sigh, making a motion like he was about to hop up from the couch. There was the faintest hesitation in the way he finally pushed himself off from the cushion beside her.

He was reaching for his bow when Laurel registered what he had said, or rather what he hadn’t.

“Did you already have one?” She asked, a hint of a smile on her lips, a part of her felt as though she already knew the answer to her question.

“Have one what?” Oliver asked, though Laurel knew him well enough to know when he was playing dumb.

“A reason to stay.” She amended instantly, studying the way he ducked his head and hunched his broad shoulders.

It was a challenge to keep her grin from getting broader at the sort of scoff he released, like it was obvious...and maybe it was. Maybe she just wanted to hear him say it.

“I mean…” He began before falling silent once more, that tension she had felt when encountering the “hood” suddenly hanging in the air as she found his green-rimmed gaze. Tension that she had never been able to define before, all the more understandable when fixed beneath that stare of his.

“It’s late.” Oliver said quietly, undoubtedly an excuse that he knew Laurel could read right through.

“I’m a bit of a night owl if you haven’t noticed.” Laurel teased with a brief lift of her shoulders. He let out a breath once more, not quite a scoff, more like a wheeze whistled between his perfect teeth. Laurel could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed against his throat as he swallowed.

He ducked his head again, shyly, reminding her of the reedy teenager he had been once upon a time. The sweet boy who would’ve burned through his seemingly endless trust fund just to have her crack a smile. Not that the money had ever been what drew them together, no, it had been all him, that magnetic smile and husky laugh...

He was rocking on his feet once more, a little muscle in his jaw flexing that told Laurel he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I  _ should  _ go.” Oliver explained, his voice sounding strained to her ears. Once again, Laurel found herself sifting through his words to find the ones he wouldn’t dare utter.

“Do you want to?” Laurel asked finally, feeling that tension in the air grow heavier by the moment, god, she could hardly breathe with him staring at her like  _ that _ . Staring at her like she was some endangered species, some precious thing that he was terrified of wiping out.

Laurel felt her cheeks grow warm at the way he licked his lips, the ragged saw of his exhale cutting through the air. She was sliding to her feet, still half dressed in her vigilante gear where she rose up to meet him. The motion nearly brought them chest to chest.

“No.” He admitted, trembling at the way she swept closer to him, reigniting that post-patrol froth of adrenaline like gunpowder. Laurel sucked in a breath, feeling a shiver bolt up her spine at the overwhelming want in his gaze.

“Then stay.” Laurel proposed in a whisper, the invitation making his breath leave his lips in a gasp.

Rocking closer to him, her lips seeking his, shaky laughter wheezed between their lips where they lingered unbearably close. God, how many times had she imagined this? Dreamt of this moment, of the time he was back in her arms…

She squeaked out a whimper at the warm press of his lips against hers, this wasn’t the first time they had kissed - yet somehow this felt more real...more honest to what they had both been aching for.

Oliver rumbled an equally desperate sound into their kiss, his grip firm where he clutched her.

Laurel felt her spine go stiff at the searing press of his palm against the slip of skin exposed by the rumpled fabric of her undershirt.

“I-” Laurel began shakily, grateful for the way Oliver pulled back instantly, worry and patience residing in those haunting blue eyes. Shuddering at the way his big calloused palms carefully took a hold of her face, her hands curling over the coarse canvas of his sleeves instinctually.

“I don’t look exactly the same way as I did before…” Laurel admitted, while she certainly was no slouch, she wasn’t exactly the supple little twenty-two year old he left behind. She was all lean muscle, Ted had made sure of that, and five years patrolling in the Glades had left her with more than a handful of scars.

Relief chased away her worry as Oliver rumbled a deep laugh, a pleasant sound that ignited a bone-deep hunger in her. His blue eyes creased at the corners as he leaned in close once more, his lips gentle when they found hers. Kissing his way across the sharp edge of her jaw, teeth catching at her ear.

Laurel trembled at the cautious way he shimmied up the fabric of her undershirt, his warm palm smoothing appreciatively over her sculpted abdomen. His hand curling over her side, mindful of the bruise that resided there, his thumb lovingly traced the raised skin of a scar.

“Neither do I.” Oliver whispered in return, and Laurel felt dizzy with want. On the off chance in her past that she had decided to take a lover home, there was always the question about her scars, the thinly veiled suggestion that she didn’t appear very ‘feminine’. 

Yet lingering in the darkness of her bedroom, a smile twitching on her lips as Oliver shucked off the top portion of his suit, revealing a chiseled mass of muscle crosshatched with a patchwork of scars. While the thought of him having been in such pain brought her no joy, there was a comfort she took in the look on his face as he admired the faded stitching over own wounds. There was no confusion here, no second-guessing, it was Ollie, and things had always made sense with him - even now, even this.

“ _ Dinah Laurel Lance _ …” Oliver whispered her name in that appraising way with that fond tilt of his head, his eyes raking over her like she was something unfathomable.

His hands framed her narrow hips, broad thumbs smoothing over the skin there as he leaned in close to her.

“You’re the prettiest bird I’ve ever seen…” He murmured, and Laurel felt her knees nearly give way at his silly praise.

“Shut up.” She shot back with a watery smile, not entirely pleased with the way her voice quavered.

“My Black Canary…” He persisted, an overwhelming, yet entirely understandable warmth in his gaze.

“My hero…” Oliver whispered finally, until Laurel couldn’t wait a moment longer. Catapulting herself the distance to his lips, her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him into a scorching kiss fueled with five years of their pent up desire.   
  


Come morning Laurel found herself whining at the grating sound of her alarm clock, groping blindly in the pitch darkness provided by her blackout curtains. Shifting in her bed, she grinned lazily at the heavily muscled arm that appeared from the mess of sheets to pull her back to her previous spot. She just barely managed to hit the snooze button before wriggling back beneath the blankets.

“Hey.” Laurel whispered dreamily, smiling as she trailed her fingers down Oliver’s nape, where he had buried his face into one of her pillows.

“Mmm.” He rumbled quietly, practically purring where her fingers began a lazy path stroking up and down his back, following the shallow trench of his spine.

“Very articulate I see.” Laurel murmured fondly, hunkering down into his side for a moment longer.

“Morning...Pretty Bird.” Oliver replied with a small chuckle, laughing when Laurel retaliated with a playful dig of her elbow against his ribs.

“Morning.” Laurel replied in a silken purr. They ended up rolling around in the skin-warmed sheets, her weight eventually settled on his back, reminiscent of simpler times and drowsy mornings holed up in his room after one too many run-ins with his mother.

Oliver hummed a pleased sound, content with where they were, and Laurel wouldn’t argue if not for the fact that she had somewhere to be.

“Not that I’m complaining, but uh...what are we doing up this early?” He asked and Laurel smothered her resulting giggle against his neck.

“Well,” Laurel drawled, “Not all of us can live like kings, or Queens,” She teased, “Some of us have jobs, remember?”

“Right.” Oliver groaned, and Laurel couldn’t help but smile, it wasn’t like he had to get up. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, Laurel grinned as Oliver rolled them over once more, effectively pinning her to the bed. He propped his weight up one arm as he stared down at her, a drowsy smile on his lips.

“Don’t wanna let you go yet.” He rumbled lovingly, his fingers in her hair as he leaned in close for a soft kiss, just the barest brush of their lips that got her going far quicker than any alarm could. Though the brief moment was ruined by the return of her alarm, the irritating chirp earning a whine from both vigilantes.

“Alright, alright,” He acquiesced, pecking her lips once more, “I’ll drive you.” 

Thankfully in the short amount of time it took her to get ready, Oliver had called his bodyguard and driver, Mr. Diggle to drive her to work. It certainly made sense, Laurel knew they couldn’t exactly hop on her motorcycle, which had been reserved for vigilantism for the short trip to her office down in the Glades. She was rinsing out her coffee cup when Oliver’s bodyguard had arrived with a knock to her door.

The man appeared with a stern, if congenial smile and a duffle bag with a change of clothes for Oliver when she opened the door to greet him. The spare clothes was another good call on Ollie’s part, she supposed, he didn’t have much to wear aside from his little green hood that was still tossed somewhere on her bedroom floor. Mr. Diggle didn’t ask any questions, and for that Laurel was infinitely grateful as she accepted the clothes with a small exclamation of thanks before scampering over to her bathroom to hand them off to Oliver.

Mr. Diggle simply gave a nod when Oliver emerged from her apartment asking him to drive them to CNRI, freshly showered in his clean change of civilian clothes. It was amusing watching as Oliver fiddled with the hem of his jeans, he played the part of polished billionaire playboy almost as well as she did the role of attorney. He tossed his duffel bag, now occupied by his discarded vigilante gear, into the trunk of the town car Mr. Diggle had arrived in.

“So, how about lunch?” Oliver asked suddenly with that inviting smile that was nearly impossible to say no to. 

Laurel grinned back at him, was he asking her out on a date, like an actual date? Not the ‘meet you on the rooftop’ kind of date? She chewed her lip pensively at the thought, after the previous night’s events it seemed like a no-brainer. They were doing this whole relationship thing kind of backwards, but it was certainly an idea worth entertaining. She could tell by the blur of buildings whizzing in the window behind Oliver that they were getting close to CNRI, which unfortunately didn’t leave them with a lot of time to talk.

“I’d love to,” Laurel began, observing the hopeful gleam in his blue eyes, which was offset by the cautious crease of his brow, “but, I already have plans today, actually.”

It was obvious to her that she’d wounded him a little by the way he leaned back in his seat by the window.

“But, uh, I’d love to do dinner...tonight, if you’re not busy.” Laurel proposed hesitantly. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go out with him, but unfortunately her lunch date kind of took precedence. 

The small frown Oliver had been wearing soon faded only to be replaced with a coy smirk, his mouth crooked upward devilishly.

“Yeah,” He relented after a moment with a feigned sigh that made her laugh, “dinner’s fine by me.”

“Great.” Laurel commented, not quite able to hide her pleased smile. Her hand fell to the clasp of her seatbelt as Mr. Diggle pulled the car up to the curb. The driver lowered the privacy window separating the front cabin and back of the car.

“We’re here.” Mr. Diggle informed stiffly.

Laurel made a move for her purse, pausing when she heard Oliver’s door open and close. Glancing over her shoulder, she raised a brow at the now-empty spot where he had once been, only to inhale sharply in surprise as the car door on her side was pulled open. Ollie lingered on the curb, a broad palm extended out in offering.

“What are you doing?” Laurel asked with a grin, inching closer to the opened door and subsequently towards Oliver as well.

“Walking you inside.” Oliver informed, his features were almost schooled into something passive if not for the playful gleam in his eyes. Sliding her purse to the crook of her elbow, Laurel languidly dropped her hand in his, the feeling of his calluses touching hers ignited a sparkle of friction between them. Climbing from the car, Laurel was quick to toss a thank you to Mr. Diggle for driving her.

“Walking me inside,” Laurel echoed in a disbelieving whisper, playfully nudging him with her shoulder as they approached the front doors of the building, “y’know if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve got a thing for me.” She said teasingly, enjoying the way Oliver ducked his head to hide his blush as he held the door open for her.

“Yeah, but you do know better.” He shot back, the warmth of his breath ghost over the back of her neck as he followed her into the building. They’d made it into the bustling office when Laurel spotted Thea. The youngest Queen sibling was jabbing the buttons of their only working printer rather violently.

“Morning, Speedy.” Laurel called as she passed the teenager on her way to her desk.

“Morning...thanks for driving me to work, Ollie.” Thea called back bitterly, having abandoned her efforts with the printer to head straight towards her brother. After dropping off her coat and purse at her desk, Laurel was quick to round back on the girl she had always viewed as a little sister. She winced at the sight of Oliver getting a verbal tongue lashing, as he stood mutely before his diminutive little sister. Laurel knew from experience that being confronted by family in their line of work was difficult, but having an alibi always helped, lying worked too, rarer still was the opportunity to tell the truth.

Slinking up behind the two siblings, Laurel cautiously skirted to Oliver’s side as Thea continued her little tirade.

“You said you would drive me, but you weren’t even home last night, or this morning...where were you, oh wait let me guess, you were busy?” She hissed, clearly upset with having been let down by Oliver. It was in moments like these that she was glad she was an only child.

“He was with me.” Laurel interjected, her words earning a shocked look from Oliver, though no argument on his part, if anything he appeared grateful for the save.

“Laurel, please, you don’t have to cover for him,” Thea said in a softer voice, making it quite obvious who her ire was directed at. Sucking in a quick breath, Laurel casted a quick apologetic glance at Oliver.

“Seriously, he was with me.” Laurel said more firmly, before deftly reaching up to tug down the collar of his button-down shirt to reveal the string of marks she’d left on him. A lovely trail of purplish bruises, that meandered down the chorded muscle of his neck, in the shape of her mouth…

Thea had gone silent, stiff as a statue with her hands clapped over her mouth in shock and her eyes wide at the sight. Laurel was quick to fix Oliver’s shirt, doing her best to hide the evidence of their coupling. Eventually Thea lowered her hands to reveal the smile she had hidden underneath.

“Oh my god!” She exclaimed excitedly, only to shrink nervously toward the two adults when she remembered where she was.

“Oh my god…” Thea echoed more gently with a wide grin, her anger replaced with a keen joy.

“Are you guys getting back together?” She asked hopefully, it made Laurel’s chest glow with a fond warmth. Thea didn’t wait long enough for either of them to answer before socking her big brother on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Oliver exclaimed, rubbing at his shoulder. Laurel snorted at the sight, he’d made less of a fuss when he’d taken a lead pipe to the back of the head in an alley the night before.

“Why didn’t you say you were with Laurel?” Thea asked with a little pout, no doubt annoyed at having been uninformed of such grand news. Laurel’s cheeks grew warm at Oliver’s little nervous smile.

“I was getting to that.” He said lamely, staring down at his leather boots which were more expensive than her rent. Laurel chuckled, placing her hand on Thea’s shoulder, who was bouncing excitedly, probably already trying to pick wedding venues for the two of them.

“Hey, Speedy?” Laurel hummed, getting the younger woman’s attention.

“You and I have to get to work, and Oliver has to get going.” Laurel reminded, pleased with the way Thea seemed unfazed by Oliver’s comings and goings at the moment.

“Yeah, okay, fine.” The little brunette relented with a melodramatic sigh before prancing back off towards the printer.

Laurel smirked at the feeling of Oliver’s elbow nudging her side.

“You didn’t have to do that…” Oliver commented quietly, his voice strained in the way that let Laurel know he had turtled back in on himself.

“Ollie, it’s fine,” Laurel soothed instantly, though despite her attempts it wasn’t enough to calm him.

“No, I just - you know how Thea can be, she’s probably already thinking of spots where I can propose… I guess what I’m trying to say is that this,  _ us _ ,” He stressed the word inspiring a swell of heat in her belly, “doesn’t have to be anything more, not if you don’t want it to be.”

Oliver let out a sigh, still studying his shoes. That’s what this was about? He was worried that she wasn’t interested in something serious? She supposed the fact that offered her an out was sort of sweet, if it wasn’t just as insulting. The irony wasn’t lost on her considering the turn of events the night before. Laurel was always the one trying to get  _ him _ to stay, back before he had gotten on that boat and irreparably changed both of their lives, she was the one looking for apartments, she was the one trying to settle down, and even still the night before she had been the one inviting him to spend the night.

Laurel discreetly but firmly seized Oliver by the bicep, her fingers curled over the bulge of muscle.

“Are you trying to back out of dinner?” Laurel asked cooly, a delicate brow cocked at the question.

“What? No, of course not.” Oliver sputtered, the prodding managing to get him to peek out of that shell he hid himself in.

“Good,” Laurel purred with a smirk, “Because I’m looking forward to it.”

“So am I.” Oliver supplied without hesitation, a more familiar grin on his lips at the brief challenge she afforded him. The smile lingering on his face reminded her of the boy she used to know, the boy she only seemed to catch a glimpse of beneath that hood. In a way she understood, being the Black Canary made her feel more like herself than being an attorney ever could.

“Okay,” Laurel hummed, her voice softer perhaps even bordering on coy as she eyed him, “see you tonight.” Leaning up on the tips of her toes, the kitten heels she had worn to work didn’t offer much height, her lips brushed his cheek. The sting of stubble making her lips tingle. Oliver let out a small laugh, a little giddy sound that left Laurel craving more.

Her gaze lingering on his broad back as he reluctantly left the main office, he backpedaled at first, smiling blue eyes stuck on her, before he eventually turned towards the door. It was probably a good thing that he did, Laurel couldn’t imagine getting any work done with Oliver around.

The day passed Laurel by in blur, it usually did, serving as nothing more than fuel for her rather eclectic nightly activity. Admittedly she was looking forward to more than just patrolling tonight.

Fiddling with the lock of her front door, Laurel let out a small sigh as she pushed open the door. Slipping into her apartment, she kicked off her heels and shrugged off her coat. Padding to the living room on bare feet, she found herself smiling at the sight of Oliver, his broad shoulders hunched as thumbed through a small book. The little thing was hardly visible when swallowed up in his large palm.

“Hey.” Laurel greeted softly as she leaned her weight against the wall. Her dreamy smile widening at the way he perked up at the sound of her voice.

“Hi.” He called in return, folding the small book closed with his thumb. Skirting over to him Laurel was quick to join him on the couch, setting her purse down beside her.

“Is that your diary?” She asked teasingly as she motioned to the weathered book in his grasp. Oliver snorted in amusement, shaking his head at her playfulness.

“Not mine, no… it was my father’s.” He explained simply, handing the book over without much fanfare. Laurel stared down at the stained brown spine of the book, glancing at Oliver for confirmation that he was in fact okay with her looking through the pages. He didn’t seem worried or guarded, his gaze seemed imploring even. Peeling back the cover some pages fanned out in her palm as she spread the book open.

As she flipped through page after page, her fingers tracing each name that had been crossed out, feeling the groove left behind by the pen on the thin paper - like a scar.

“This was your father’s?” Laurel asked, feeling Oliver’s affirmative humm against her shoulder where he looked on through the book’s contents beside her. Many of the names inhabiting the pages were familiar ones, some of Starling’s elite, some people she had even crossed paths with in the courtroom. It was obvious that these individuals were all targets of the man in the hood, in his crosshairs without even knowing it. It seemed Laurel wasn’t the only one who had been put on this path by another, Ted had reared her up, molded her into a weapon at her behest to continue his journey, to protect the people of this city. Now, it was clear that Oliver’s father had done something similar, given him targets, given him purpose.

Her chest felt warm at the realization that he trusted her enough to share this with her. It might appear insignificant to those that couldn’t fathom what it was that drove them to put on a hood or a mask and rail valiantly against the injustice that had corrupted their city, but Laurel understood, she knew the weight of this gesture. Feeling the urge to reciprocate in kind, she recalled there was something she wanted to share with him.

“Did you order dinner yet?” She asked, licking her lips as she became acutely aware of the present warmth of Oliver by her side.

“Uh, no, I wanted to wait until you got home first.” Oliver said quietly. Home? Laurel thought to herself, a stubborn smile on her lips, yeah,  _ home _ sounded right to her.

“Good, there’s something I want you to see.” Laurel said as she leaned over to rummage through her purse, yanking free a weathered case file. Passing the folder over to Oliver, Laurel hooked her chin against his shoulder as he began to flip through it.

“Where did you get this?” He asked skeptically as he examined the folder, it had SCPD written all over it. Oliver turned to face her, making his stubble scratch nose and cheek as a result of their close proximity.

“My lunch date...McKenna Hall.” Laurel explained only to be faced with Oliver’s bewildered expression, right, he’d been gone for five years.

“She's a detective now.” Laurel tacked on, the additional information seeming to quell his confusion. She briefly considered how jarring it must’ve been for him to relearn things and people after so long, then again he wasn’t exactly the same rich kid he’d been before either. Oliver’s eyes flicked up and down as he read over the articles and reports that filled the file.

“The Dodger?” Oliver asked incredulously, nose wrinkled adorably as he continued perusing the contents of the file. Laurel knew Oliver must’ve gotten to the part in the file where it documented the notorious thief’s penchant for wiring innocents with compact explosive collars, by the way his brow furrowed.

“I know he’s not on your list…” Laurel began, leaning back enough for Oliver to turn to face her. There was a steely glint in the blue of his eyes, a determination that stunned her, he had purpose. He was already shaking away the excuse before Laurel could ask for his help.

“Let’s get this guy.” Oliver said firmly, earning a wide smile from Laurel, it was dizzyingly attractive to see him so invigorated. It would’ve taken a concerted effort to hide her blooming grin, not that Laurel could be bothered to hide how happy he made her.

She giggled as Oliver rose to his feet in a smooth motion, tugging her up with a hand around her wrist. They collided chest to chest, whether it was the impact of their bodies meeting that stole her breath, or simply their intimate closeness she wasn’t sure. 

All breathless and blushing Laurel quickly scampered off to her bedroom to get changed, out of her little blouse and pencil skirt into her vigilante gear. After five years of suiting up Laurel had become pretty efficient at it, emerging suited up from her bedroom in record time. Heady warmth bubbled in her stomach as she spotted Oliver’s imposing hooded figure looming by her window. She could detect the shadow of a smile on his lips as she sauntered his way.

Oliver sucked in a breath as she brushed past him. He swiftly slung his bow across his back as he slid the window open, the warm air and sounds of the city greeting them.

“After you, Pretty Bird.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel's thirst for justice in and out of the courtroom puts a target on more than herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during the episode "Home Invasion". Personally I liked that episode enough as is, could've lived without Tommy being a jealous man child, sooo, I just tried to take the episode and adapt it to this AU.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Casting one last longing glance from her spot in the doorway, eyes savoring the sight of Oliver’s bare back where he laid nestled in the snarl of silk sheets, Laurel felt as her chest tingled with an unadulterated warmth. 

They had ended up in his bed the night before, exhausted after the bust of a new Vertigo ring.

Holding her breath as she cautiously eased shut Oliver’s bedroom door, keen on not waking the sleeping scion. The heels she had worn to work the previous day dangling from her fingers as she crept from the room.

“Leaving so soon?” A calm voice asked startling the vigilante, her palm curled instinctively around the width of her shoe, prepared in her panic to use the tapered point of the heel as a weapon. Shaking the bout of nerves that had no business belonging to an attorney, Laurel cast a nervous smile at the culprit, Mr. Diggle, where he lingered stalwartly in the hall. Unlike the usual stern expression she had come to expect from Oliver’s bodyguard, the man wore something akin to a smirk on his lips accompanied by a knowing glint in his dark eyes.

“Unfortunately, duty calls.” She explained simply, motioning to the coiled earpiece he wore even at this early hour. The man gave a stiff nod apparently stomaching her response, his broad hands clasped behind his back.

“Of course,” Mr. Diggle hummed in understanding, “I’ll be sure to let Mr. Queen know.” The bodyguard said whilst wearing that unnerving smirk, like he was in some inside joke. 

Giving a curt nod, Laurel was quick to slip past the man, not eager to prolong the awkward encounter any further. Her efforts to escape soon came to a halt when he spoke again.

“Is there anything else you would like me to tell him?” The bodyguard asked, those inquisitive dark eyes studying her.

Laurel wasn’t sure what answer he was looking for, but it was clear he was looking for something.

“Uh, tell him that we’re still on for dinner tonight.” Laurel said simply, she and Oliver hadn’t made plans, but hopefully the lie would be enough to sate Diggle’s curiosity. On the chance the precocious bodyguard did relay the message Laurel supposed it wouldn’t be a bad thing, she’d welcome the prospect of Oliver _and_ dinner.

“Wonderful, what suit should he bring to dinner?” Diggle asked smugly, not that Laurel would give him the satisfaction of confirming or denying any suspicion with a reaction. She was a lawyer for goodness sakes, did he think he could spook her?

“I’ll leave that up to him.” Laurel said with a cold plastic smile, giving the bodyguard one last congenial wave as before she continued her path down the hall.

After calling a cab from the Queen residence, Laurel had been eager to head back to her apartment to clean up before the deposition with the Moore family. She had grease paint in places she couldn’t reach with makeup wipes and some old aches that would benefit from a short stint in a hot shower. She breezed through her morning routine, throwing together an outfit that would be appropriate for the day’s proceedings. The urge to throw on something black was something Laurel battled with, a silent statement to Edward Rasmus’ lawyers that their client’s career in scamming innocents would be dead and buried after today.

Laurel’s heart sank at the sight of squad cars as she approached CNRI. Dread pooled in her stomach as she picked up the pace, grateful for the simple flats she had decided to wear as she broke into a jog. She barreled through the front doors, skidding to stop when she spotted Jo talking to - was that her father?

“What happened?” Laurel asked immediately, impatient even. If esteemed Detective Quentin Lance had been called in she knew it couldn’t mean anything good. Laurel could feel her father’s eyes on her.

“It’s good to see you too, sweetheart.” Quentin said with scoff, tucking the notepad he had been using to take notes into his breast pocket.

“Hi, dad.” She greeted quickly before fixing Jo with an expectant stare, she could deal with her father later.

“It’s about the Moore’s…” Joanna began sadly, and quickly Laurel tensed in anticipation, exhaled a deep sigh through her teeth.

“God,” Laurel hissed, raking a hand through her hair, “and Taylor, is he…” Her voice trailed off at the thought of her client’s little boy, not able to speak the horrid words. Jo’s hand came up to her shoulder steadying Laurel offering a soft calming smile.

“He’s alright, he’s at your desk until social services arrive.” Her friend said as though it was a victory, but Laurel couldn’t help but feel rage swell through her at the situation, there were no victories in situations like this.

“What the hell happened?” Laurel asked, desperate for something, anything, to dismiss the worst places her mind had gone in her panic.

“Edward Rasmus happened.” Quentin said bitterly and Laurel could feel the ‘I told you so’ hanging on his tongue as he glared in her direction.

“We don’t know that for sure.” Joanna intervened, a foolishly hopeful gleam in her soft doe eyes.

“The kid said a man killed his parents the night before the deposition, shot them dead, Jo. You think this was a coincidence? CSI’s said nothing is missing from the house, no electronics, no valuables, this wasn’t a burglary - it was an execution.” Quentin said firmly, and as much as she wasn’t fond of agreeing with her father, Laurel knew he was right. The innocent people she had been trying to defend were gunned down, silenced...

“This is exactly what I warned you about, going after big fish like that puts a target on your back, Laurel.” He persisted, because his idea of her using her degree was breezing through civil cases for the rest of her life. The hypocrisy certainly wasn’t lost on Laurel, her father had built his career on big busts, yet heavens forbid she tried to do the same - to do something that mattered. No, to him she would always be some fragile bird to throw in a cage, he’d lock her up and call it protection. It was one of the reasons he could never know about what she actually did at night.

“Does Taylor have any extended family?” Laurel asked after a moment, rubbing at the tense spot between her eyes.

“Grandparents, they’re out of state.” Joanna said somberly, “So, until then, he’ll probably be put with a foster family.”

Laurel shook her head at the thought, the little boy had been through so much, the last thing he needed was to get thrown into a house with a bunch of strangers. No, no, he deserved better. The Black Canary had gone by a few names before the press stuck with something catchy. Starling’s guardian angel had been a moniker that lasted a short while. A guardian angel, yeah, that was what the boy needed…

“He can stay with me.” Laurel said after a moment, ignoring the looks of surprise from both her father and her friend.

“I’ll fill out whatever paperwork I have to.” She added, unflinching in the face of her father’s scrutiny.

“You’re going to look after this boy by yourself?” Quentin asked incredulously, not that Laurel was particularly concerned with what her father thought of her ability to care for a child.

“No, not by myself, Ollie’s coming over for dinner.” Laurel said somewhat smugly even despite the somber situation. She still wasn’t one hundred percent sure if they were  _ actually _ having dinner, but once again the lie would have to suffice. Her father had never been a fan of Oliver’s, not even coming back from the dead would change that.

“We’re saved.” Quentin drawled sarcastically, clearly displeased by her choice of company, but satisfied nonetheless that she would have some.

“I want at least two patrol cars outside your building.” He added, his shoulders tensed like he was anticipating her to push back, to reject his protection.

“Fine.” Laurel said simply before abandoning the conversation and walking over to her desk. She found Taylor sitting in her chair, kicking his little feet where they dangled just shy of touching the floor.

Laurel drew nearer to the boy, pulling up another chair so she could sit beside him.

“Hi.” Laurel said quietly, smiling gently when he lifted his head to stare at her with his big blue eyes.

“Hello.” He murmured gently, his small hands fidgeting with a loose thread in the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Laurel cautiously reached over, curling her hand around his. She felt a tentative warmth bloom in her chest when he seemed to push his hand more firmly into hers, comforted by the security of her hand in his.

“Taylor?” Laurel probed after a moment, watching as he stared up at her expectantly, swiveling gently as he continued to kick his feet.

“Would you like to stay with me for tonight?” She asked tentatively, trying to gauge his reaction. His little nostrils began to flare and his chin wobbled as he quickly nodded his head. Laurel threw her arms around Taylor pulling him to her in a warm hug. She stroked her hand over his tawny hair, holding him a little tighter when she felt the wet warmth of tears pierce through her the thin material of her sweater.

The day had gone on, Laurel had signed for temporary guardianship of Taylor when the social worker arrived. The boy seemed to take comfort in knowing that it wouldn’t be too long until his grandparents arrived.

Laurel had sent Oliver a few texts throughout the day, ones that unfortunately went unanswered even as she and Taylor rode the elevator up to her floor. A plastic shopping bag dangled around her wrist filled with all the fixings for a couple of sundaes and a package of the blue box mac and cheese. Admittedly it wasn’t the most nutritious dinner, but a little comfort food never hurt, and she'd rather he eat something than nothing.

Taylor still clutched stubbornly at her hand all the while as they walked down her hall, though Laurel found that she didn’t mind it in the slightest. She set her guest up in front of the television, making sure he didn’t glimpse the news as she scrolled through the channels. She propped him up with a couple of pillows as she threw together the mac and cheese, powdered packet radioactive orange ‘cheese’ and all.

Laurel and Taylor later settled down on the couch with matching bowls of mac and cheese watching whatever cartoons she had put on for the boy. He twisted his fork around in the bowl after a little while, having lost his appetite.

“How’s this sound, two more bites of your mac and cheese and then we make dessert?” Laurel suggested, smiling at the way his eyes lit up at the prospect. She knew the boy didn’t have a lot to look forward to at the moment, so it seemed an easy trade, giving him some ice cream in return for a smile. Without fail he dutifully chewed two more bites of his dinner before batting his lashes at her for some ice cream.

Laurel laughed warmly as the boy upended the bottle of chocolate syrup, creating a murky pool atop his scoops of vanilla ice cream. Taylor flinched in surprise when Laurel playfully flicked a handful of sprinkles at him. The colorful dots adorned the counter, catching in the crevices of his t-shirt. He blinked owlishly at her before flashing a tentative smile that grew wider when she nudged the container of sprinkles in his direction.

Before long there were sprinkles on the floor, in her hair, on the counter top, but Laurel thought the mess was worth the giddy peal of his laughter. 

Taylor reared his little hands back, sticky and stained from the sprinkles, only to let the confections clatter anticlimactically against the ground with a gasp when a knock sounded at the front door. His smile vanished and his eyes were wide where he hid himself in her shadow.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Laurel soothed with an encouraging smile, already mourning the loss of his, “I invited my friend to join us, remember?” A part of her silently hoped it was Oliver, hell, she’d even take her father and his bitter scowl, anything to keep that boy smiling.

“Wait here, alright?” She instructed with wink, scuffing her crooked finger beneath his chin playfully.

Another knock sounded, rhythmically just like the first.

“Miss Lance?” She heard an unfamiliar voice called through the door. Laurel could feel her hands tingle as she drew nearer, five years as a vigilante had whittled away at her fight or flight response, ironically despite the bird moniker, she didn’t do much flying.

“It’s Lieutenant Kessle, SCPD,” The man on the other side of the door said, “Your dad asked me to check in.” He explained, and while the name sounded unfamiliar Laurel knew it wasn’t beyond her father to request that of another officer, still she couldn’t deny the dread that unfurled responsively in her stomach.

“Lieutenant can you hold your badge up to the door, please?” Laurel asked, holding her breath as she peered through the peephole in the door. Her breath left her in a shudder as she leapt back from the door,  _ that _ wasn’t a Lieutenant’s badge.”

“Okay great, just one sec.” Laurel called keeping her voice even as she backpedaled to the kitchen. Quickly seizing Taylor by the shoulders, she could see the unadulterated fear in the boy’s large glassy eyes, “Go to the bathroom and lock the door, okay?”

Laurel flinched at the sound of silenced rounds being fired through her front door. She held her breath, the front door buckled and flew open just as she heard the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut. Taylor was safe, at least for now…

There were a tense few seconds as Laurel crept toward the cupboard where she kept the 12-gauge shotgun her father had made her get a permit for. 

Chambering a shell, Laurel kept her breathing steady and shallow even as more suppressed rounds were fired. Shattering bowls and vases, tearing apart her throw pillows and couch cushions. Her finger curled around the trigger as she heard the thump of approaching footsteps, the telling crunch of glass beneath their attacker’s feet.

“It was the badge that gave me away, right?” The assassin asked, almost conversationally, as though they were discussing the weather. Peeking out from behind the wall, Laurel didn’t waste a scant second before squeezing the trigger. The sound bloomed like a cannon in her ears, loud and obtrusive, unlike the almost wasp-like zip of the assassin’s silenced sidearm. 

The blast took out a chunk of drywall and left a red mist in the air where some of the buckshot nicked her assailant. He wheezed out a sound of pain as Laurel leveled her weapon once more, cocking the forestock back on her shotgun, sending the spent shell clattering to the ground.

“Where’s the boy?” She heard the assassin ask, she grimaced at the mention of Taylor from the monster’s mouth. He had no right.

Swiveling around the corner, she bit back a wince at the dig of glass and debris into her bare feet. Letting out a snarl as she aimed the barrel of her gun at the assassin, the side of his coat torn and saturated with blood. His weapon clutched in his hand, a waxy sheen of sweat caked over his face.

“Don’t move.” Laurel spat venomously, if she could, she’d get justice for Taylor’s parents, drag the bastard that murdered them into court and Rasmus too. The assassin made a move to run when she squeezed the trigger-

_ CLICK _

Empty, the stupid thing was empty. Sucking in a breath, Laurel gritted her teeth as the man leveled his pistol at her with a haunting smile on his face. 

Suddenly a hail of glass showered them as the window imploded, bringing with it a hooded figure.  _ Oliver _ . An arrow whistled through the air, sending the assassin’s pistol clattering against the ground. Their attacker was quick to flee after being outnumbered and without thinking Laurel gave chase, halfway out the window, broken glass biting into her palms as she vaulted down onto the fire escape. She was ducking to avoid the chatter of gunfire when she heard a frantic scream.

“Taylor!” Laurel hissed in worry, clamoring back into her apartment, she darted through the dark bleeding and unarmed in the direction of the bathroom. 

Laurel heaved out her breath in relief, the adrenaline fizzling in her blood quieting at the sight of Oliver’s imposing figure knelt before the busted bathroom door. His hood was pulled back to reveal his face. She knew the hood put the fear of god into grown men, it wasn’t unimaginable to think it might scare a little boy, especially one as traumatized as Taylor. Beneath the hood though, it was clear to see there was no monster, but in fact another guardian angel. 

His bow was abandoned on the floor, his arms wrapped around Taylor’s shaking form, holding the boy to his chest.

“You’re okay. He’s gone.” She heard Oliver whisper gently, the boy clutched at him in earnest. Kneeling down alongside them she threw her arms around the pair of them.

Laurel pressed her lips to Oliver’s temple in silent thanks, her heart hammering as she held them a moment longer.

“How did you-” She began in a whisper, her voice hushed as Taylor remained cradled between them.

“Dig told me about dinner.” Oliver supplied with a small smirk. Despite the horror of their circumstance Laurel couldn’t help but laugh, it started out as a quiet rumble, then little noisy giggles that popped in the air like firecrackers, then a boisterous laughter, the kind that inspired tears.

Then Oliver was kissing her, a chaste drag of his mouth of hers, she could taste her tears, she could taste her own acrid fear. Not the fear of losing her own life, no, the fear of losing the trembling boy held in her arms…

“Stay with me tonight.” Oliver hummed against her cheek, it wasn’t an order, not the kind her father would give, but rather a request.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Laurel agreed, pressing a teary kiss to the crown of Taylor’s head where he had drooped drowsily against both her and Oliver.

By the time the police came around Oliver was long gone, even her father didn’t argue the suggestion for them to stay at Queen manor. His gaze swept over the state of her apartment, over the raw state of her injured hands and tear stained cheeks before he finally gave a nod of approval.

“Yeah, alright.” He said tersely. Laurel kept Taylor in her arms while in the back of the squad car that drove them to the Queen residence. Even as drained as the boy was, she smiled at the way his blue eyes widened at the sight of the large mansion they would be staying in.

“It looks like a castle.” Taylor hummed, clutching at her hand as they approached the front door. A battalion of security guards flocking around them as the double doors were pulled open, exposing the opulent interior.

“You know what castles have in them, right?” Laurel asked as the boy stared owlishly around the mansion. She knew by his expectant stare that he was awaiting her answer.

“Knights.” Laurel whispered, her lips brimming into a smile as Oliver appeared around a corner. Taylor gave a small wondrous gasp at her side, tugging at her sleeve as Oliver came closer.

He winked at the boy, ruffling his hair gently before pecking Laurel on the cheek. Sinking down to Taylor’s height, Oliver grinned at him, “Let me guess,” Oliver drawled playfully, “You like hot cocoa?” He asked, smiling in a way that made Laurel’s insides melt when Taylor nodded in response.

“Well then you came to the right place, because my friend Raisa makes the  _ best _ hot cocoa.”

Raisa soon appeared, a bright smile on her face as she drew up behind Oliver. Her weathered hand rubbing fondly at Oliver’s shoulder.

“The kitchen is this way, Mr. Taylor.” Raisa said gently, that warm smile on her face still beaming as she turned her attention to their young ward.

Taylor had turned back to her, big blue eyes imploring where he stared up at Laurel.

“Go ahead, I’ll come get you soon.” Laurel promised as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Laurel leaned into Oliver, solid, warm Oliver as she watched Taylor shuffle along into the kitchen behind Raisa.

A warm sigh leaving her lips as Oliver’s arms came around her, his hand stroking her hair. Before long they had retired to a guest room, it certainly felt less pavlovian than being in Oliver’s bedroom. Taylor was tucked in, Raisa’s hot cocoa had done the trick to calm him down, he snored swaddled in the silk sheets and feather down pillows.

They lingered outside of the room, allowing the boy to get some much needed rest while keeping a watchful eye on him.

“I couldn’t help but notice the lack of a certain nosy bodyguard.” Laurel remarked, tracing the curve of Oliver’s resulting smile with her thumb.

“Mmm,” He hummed in response, “Dig had some personal stuff to deal with.”

Laurel cocked a brow at the rather lackluster explanation, fixing Oliver with her curious gaze.

“Why do I feel like there’s more to that story?” She asked.

“Because there is,” Oliver supplied, “But the short version is he’s dealing with a ghost from his past. He thinks killing him will fix things...”

Laurel let out a knowing sigh, nodding her head in understanding, “Everybody has their own boogeyman, Ollie…” She explained, turning a bit to peek into the room where the boy was sleeping. She knew for Taylor his ghost, his boogeyman would be this assassin that kept hunting him. The boy wouldn’t know peace until his parents killer was brought to justice.

“Do you?” Oliver asked after a moment, his thumb stroking her cheek fondly. Laurel ducked her head at the question, who was her boogeyman? Turning her gaze back to him, she supposed he deserved an answer, but just as she opened her mouth they were submerged in darkness. 

Darting over to Taylor’s door, she let out a breath at the sight of the boy still fast asleep. Pulling the door shut, she turned back to Oliver. The lack of light wasn’t an issue to either of them, Laurel thought as she found Oliver’s gaze in the dark, a steely glint resided in the dark blue of his eyes - a hungry look she was only used to seeing beneath that green hood of his.

Laurel stroked her palm across his cheek, feeling the warmth of his lips beneath her bandages where he kissed the inside of her hand.

She’d compromise tonight, perhaps the only way she could give Taylor the justice he deserved was by ridding the world of one less boogeyman, once and for all.

“Let’s get him.” Laurel said firmly, feeling Oliver smile against her palm. They would show this assassin what it felt like to be prey, they’d hunt together.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hood and the Black Canary hold their ground in an attempt to save their city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during the episode "Sacrifice" but just like previous chapters in this AU, doesn't parallel the show entirely. Also, it turned out kind of long. This has been a wonderful writing experience and I really have had such a great time writing this fic.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Laurel never considered herself particularly clingy, but when Oliver went radio silent on her for over 24 hours, she couldn’t help but worry. She had endured five years of deafening  _ deadening  _ silence from him, she just needed to make sure he was alright. In any other circumstance she might’ve considered waiting a little while longer for him to resurface, but since the recent advent of information surrounding Malcolm Merlyn and his plan to level the Glades the last thing Laurel wanted to do was wait. They were on a clock here.

Staring at the glowing sign of Oliver’s night club, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine where Ollie hung up that little green hood of his. Jimmying the lock to the front door, Laurel wasn’t surprised to find the place abandoned. She knew Tommy was supposed to be helping Oliver run the place, but the other billionaire seemed more keen on chasing around their old friend McKenna Hall than playing club owner.

Scouting around the place, it wasn’t long before she spotted the padlocked door that was likely masquerading as a storage closet. Clever. Running her thumb pensively over the keys, Laurel let her mind wander as she tried to figure what the code could be. His own birthday seemed too simple, so she tried inverting it. When that yielded no results, she tried Thea’s birthday. Grimacing as the buttons flashed red and the door refused to budge. Laurel chewed her bottom lip as she typed in her own birthday, nothing…

Laurel let out a frustrated breath, raking a hand through her dark hair. Whatever the code was, it was something personal to him. Something that revolved around this big facade. The mask he held up to keep people from seeing the real him. Her fingers shook as another date occurred to her, she cautiously began typing in the numbers, one after another. As she approached the last two numbers, she swallowed to wet her throat.

“Zero...Seven…” She murmured as she pressed down the buttons, a shaky exhale falling from her lips as the padlock finally flashed an affirmative green and the door gave a small click as it unlocked. The day he had gotten on the Gambit… The day he was irrevocably put on this path, the same day she supposed she was too.

Laurel pushed the door open, plunging forward into the darkness fearlessly. She descended the stairs, the heavy soles of her boots thumping as she went. A hesitant excitement blooming in her at the greeting glow of green lights. She’d never been down in this little hidey hole of his, she usually kept any vigilante gear in her apartment or in Ted’s gym. 

Laurel felt her smile falter at the sight of a figure hunched over the main desk, typing away at a computer. She tried to shelve her disappointment at the sight of none other than Oliver’s bodyguard, John Diggle. Clearing her throat, Laurel could read the surprise written clearly on his face as he turned to face her.

“Laurel?” John said incredulously, “What are you doing down here?”

The vigilante couldn’t help but roll her eyes, she was so damn tired of playing dumb, pretending she was some hapless little thing. She didn’t know the man well, but clearly if Oliver put his trust in him, then there must’ve been some merit to the decision.

“You know what I’m doing down here.” She supplied, striding forward into the room. There was a sort of realization on his face, something akin to vindication reflecting in his dark eyes.

“You know what I am.” Laure said firmly, it wasn’t a question, but rather a statement that she knew to be true, which the bodyguard only further confirmed by the small smile he wore.

“I’ve had a feeling.” He said modestly as he rose from his spot hunched at the desk. The large man met her half way, holding out a hand expectantly. Reaching out in return Laurel shook his hand.

“It’s an honor…Black Canary.” Diggle said proudly, of all the things she had anticipated from him, respect wasn’t one of them. It was surprisingly refreshing. Sure, Oliver never failed to shower her with praise and admiration, but he was woefully biased. This was, well, it was nice.

“Thanks…” Laurel murmured in return, the notion of being thanked for her work wasn’t so alien, there had been a few blog posts and articles throughout the years, people hailing their hero, the woman in black. Laurel had never put on the mask for recognition, she had only ever done it because she knew it was what the city needed, and beneath that it was what she had needed. Despite it all, she couldn’t remember ever being thanked in person, the warmth it inspired in her chest was sort of electric and pleasant.

“This is nice and all, but I came here for something else,” Laurel explained, following as the bodyguard gave her a nod motioning her over to the computer he had been typing away at previously.

“Yeah, I thought as much.” He supplied, pulling up a few maps of the city with a few clicks.

“Where is he?” Laurel asked succinctly, she didn’t have time to be frantic, she just needed to find him.

“Well, I figured he was with you,” Diggle explained, continuing to type, “But seeing as you’re here and he’s not…” He trailed off knowingly. Laurel peeked over his shoulder, observing the monitor. She lifted her brows in surprise as a single red dot began blinking over the map displayed on the screen..

“You put a tracker on him?” Laurel remarked in amazement, admittedly it seemed a bit invasive, but she supposed it could be overlooked for the moment.

“In his boot.” Diggle corrected with a smirk, “tracker shows he’s not far off. An abandoned warehouse in the Glades.” He explained, shaking his head as he continued typing, “It’s always a warehouse.” He remarked with a sigh.

“Are you guys looking to expand the work space?” Laurel asked as she squinted at the map. If she was lucky this was all just a misunderstanding, and Oliver was fine, and she could chew him out later for making her worry.

“Nope.” Diggle said simply. Whatever naive hope she clung onto was swiftly quashed as she watched the man clip his sidearm to his belt, pulling back the slide of his glock to chamber a round.

“Shit.” Laurel hissed, dropping her bag down onto one of the man display tables. Digging around through her purse, she pulled free the expandable steel baton she carried for emergencies. She didn’t want to waste a moment of Oliver’s time, not even to run home and get her gear. If they were going to get him, they were going to get him  _ now _ .

Laurel could feel Diggle’s gaze on her, an almost boyish excitement in the way he stared at her. She cracked a small smile, motioning for him to take the lead.

“What do I call you?” She asked, not sure what to make of the genuine smile on his lips.

“Diggle’s good, Dig if you want.” He said with a smirk.

“Well, Dig, take me to my guy.”

Laurel peeked through the window of the black panel van Diggle had driven them in, scoping out the warehouse Oliver’s tracker had led them to.

“This is the spot.” Diggle informed, similarly studying the environment for any opposition. Laurel didn’t wait to unclip her seatbelt, practically leaping from the car before Dig could even put the car in park.

“Hey-” He called as she slipped from the vehicle.

“Keep the engine running!” Laurel called as she took off in the direction of the warehouse’s only foreseeable entrance. Pulling the expandable baton from her back pocket, she shook the weapon out to it’s full size with an expert flick of her wrist. Testing the door, the vigilante was surprised to find it was unlocked, well, they might as well have laid out a red carpet for her.

Adrenaline already bounding through her as she crouched down, pushing the door open, she was quick to slip inside. A shiver raced down her spine at the chatter of commotion. Laurel crept up behind the imposing figure of a guard who was too busy looking elsewhere to notice the opened door. Rearing her arm back, she swiftly cracked her baton against the man’s knee bringing him crumbling down.

“What the hell?!” She heard another guard shout in surprise.

Hooking her arm around the man’s neck, she ducked down behind the guard’s body, wincing as he absorbed the spray of gunfire. Dragging the human shield forward, Laurel shoved the dead weight down onto the remaining guard, stunning him long enough to strike him across the face with her baton. Blood and teeth flying as the second guard soon joined the first on the floor.

Stepping over the bodies, Laurel was quick to round the corner, letting out a sigh of relief as she spotted Oliver. He was heaving out labored breaths, clutching at his shoulder where he was hunched over another subdued guard. Laurel smiled at the array of emotions that played out over his face, anticipation, fear, relief, happiness…

She darted forward swiftly wrapping him in her arms, feeling him slump against her, his face hidden in the crook of her neck.

“You know in any other situation this would be a dream come true,” Laurel teased, “finding you chained up and shirtless has got to be up there on my list of fantasies.” She stroked her free hand over his hair soothingly, smiling despite the relieved tears that glittered in her eyes as he rumbled a tired laugh against her. His arms were around her, clutching her like she was a lifeline. She was sure she could nearly feel his heart hammering away in his chest.

Laurel let out a squeak of surprise that she was glad only he could hear when she felt Oliver give her a tender squeeze. His hands were quick despite the chains weighing them down. His mouth was on hers, groaning a low sound when she sucked his lower lip between her teeth without thinking.

Laurel tilted her head back with a gasp, feeling the electric drag of his mouth over her neck, hot lips and straight teeth sucking and nipping at the available skin. His hands framed her hips as he rocked against her, the contact sending a thrill of warmth, like a pulse of lightning, between her legs.

_ Damn _ that felt good. 

Laurel was halfway out of her jacket when reality seemed to return her. They had a job to do, despite the way Oliver was riding that tide of emotions, that current of adrenaline, and the way she desperately wanted to ride that feeling with him. She caught him by the back of the neck, like a misbehaving puppy, when he hungrily lunged at her again.

“Ollie,” She hissed, panting as she tried to steady her breath, “Priorities.” He nodded his head dumbly, only to slant his mouth over hers once more, sweeping her into his arms. Laurel giggled against his mouth, this kiss far less charged than the previous ones, but nonetheless lovely.

Resting her forehead against his, she hummed a content sound at the warm want reflecting in his gaze.

“Stop Merlyn, first.” Laurel explained, “Then this,” she said, pecking his lips, smoothing a telling hand down between his legs, wrenching free a little hungry hiss from him, feeling the weight of him fill out of her palm.

“Then this?” Oliver echoed with a wolfish grin, practically rutting against her palm.

“So much of this.” Laurel promised with a teasing squeeze as she stole one last kiss from him.

They found a key to the heavy manacles clamped around his wrists, on one of the guards, freeing him of his shackles. Laurel spotted the rest of his gear, his quiver and the rest of his outfit, which likely would’ve been more beneficial earlier. 

Exiting the warehouse with Oliver in tow, Laurel felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment as they neared the van. Yanking opened the sliding door of the van, she climbed in after Oliver, trying not to appear as guilty as she felt.

“What took so long?” Laurel heard Diggle ask smugly where he sat in the front seat, only smiling wider when she and Oliver hid their matching ruddy blushes in shame.

\---

Laurel followed after Oliver as Diggle elbowed a path through the swarm of reporters and cameramen filling the Queen residence. What the hell was going on? They had only taken a detour to her apartment after Oliver’s rescue to pick up Laurel’s vigilante gear and drop it off at Verdant in preparation for what was to come.

“Ollie?” Both Laurel and Oliver turned in the direction of Thea’s surprised voice, just barely audible over the jumble of frantic conversation in the room. Diggle continued on cutting them a path through the gaggle of people, until they were standing side by side with Thea.

“Where the hell have you been?” Thea hissed, only pausing in her scowl to give a knowing look between him and Laurel.

“Busy.” Oliver supplied succinctly and Laurel couldn’t exactly fault his explanation or lack thereof, hell, she and Diggle had only just gotten him back not long ago.

“What’s going on?” Laurel heard Oliver ask, finally an explanation to the chaos that was unfurling in their spacious sitting room would be appreciated. Laurel wasn’t too distracted to hear Thea’s little icy scoff.

“You would know if you had been here.” Thea shot back quickly with a frown, though Laurel knew she had no right to intervene in the sibling squabble, it was clear by the muscle that jumped in his jaw that Oliver’s patience had run unusually thin.

“Thea.” He said firmly, the unforgiving tone more reminiscent of the man under the hood than the big brother Thea was used to. Laurel couldn’t blame him, his whole journey since coming home had led him here - to this precipice.

The younger Queen sibling rolled her eyes, “It’s a press conference, Mom called a press conference, she said something about needing to come clean.” Thea said finally, only to slip through the crowd abandoning the conversation. Laurel felt her blood run cold at the information. 

It was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day that the Queen family was never as picturesque as Laurel had always thought them to be. Ever since discovering that Oliver had been shot by his own mother a few weeks back, Laurel had come to reorient her understanding of Moira Queen, not the guiltless widow she had presented herself to be for so many years. Despite all of the damning evidence pointing in Moira’s direction, the revelation still landed on Laurel like a punch to the gut.

“Oliver…” Laurel murmured, her hand coming up to curl around his bicep, steadying both herself as well as him as another pack of reporters rushed through in an attempt to get closer to the Queen family’s matriarch.

“We have to stop Malcolm before this gets even more out of hand.” Laurel said firmly, it was all they could do now. This bell couldn’t be unrung. Of course to make matters worse Malcolm Merlyn wasn’t just some rich asshole who wanted to destroy their city, he was also a skilled one. The advent of his identity as the dark archer that put Oliver in the hospital on Christmas only made things more complicated.

“I know.” He agreed solemnly after a moment, seeming to return to himself at the comforting squeeze of her hand in his. Diggle was quick to escort them out of the mansion, the sooner they got to Oliver’s club, the better.

The drive over was relatively quiet and quick, the city hadn’t erupted into mass hysteria, no, Laurel thought, that wouldn’t be until Moira’s press conference went live. When the truth came out the city might implode on it’s own before Merlyn had the chance to enact his sinister plan. Laurel felt dread settle in her stomach at the thought, they needed to stop Merlyn, her five years of vigilantism would have amounted to nothing if when the time came she couldn’t save her city.

She sat in the backseat of the car, motionless even as they arrived at Verdant. Pulling her cellphone from her pocket, she tried to stomp down on the worry she felt gnawing at her.

Her cellphone shook in her hand as she lifted it her ear, the other line ringing as she held her breath in anticipation.

“Yeah?” She heard a gruff voice answer, staticky but undeniably familiar. A small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth despite the somber situation.

“Hey, Ted.” Laurel murmured into the phone, irritated as she tried to swallow past the uncomfortable lump in her throat. Damn it, this wasn’t supposed to be this hard. She sucked in a breath, hearing him exhale on the other end.

“Hey, kid.” Her mentor rumbled back fondly.

“Listen,” Laurel began, chewing at her bottom lip as she mustered up the courage to speak, “I need you to get out of the Glades…” She said simply, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she detected his disbelieving chuckle through the speaker.

“Not happening,” He said simply, she could hear the amusement in the voice, didn’t he know that she wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important?

“Ted, I’m serious, dangerous stuff is going on and I-”

“I’ve told you this before and I’ll ya it again,” He interrupted, “the  _ only  _ way I’m leaving these streets is in a bodybag.” There was a long stretch of silence before Laurel sighed deeply, she hated it when he said stuff like that, but she had known asking him to leave was a longshot. She knew what the Glades meant to him, knew the love he had for this city, the love for it that he cultured in her, but beneath all of that she knew him, Ted Grant wasn’t a quitter, for as long as she had known him he didn’t run from anything, not even if she was the one asking.

Laurel sighed, scrubbing at her nose with her sleeve, sniffling into the phone, “Just watch your back, alright?” She asked, hearing him give a sort of affirmative grunt, “The city’s a powder keg right now.” She cautioned.

Then she heard him laugh, warm and familiar, and hopelessly knowing, “It always has been.”

Laurel sank back into her seat spot in the backseat of the car, stunned at the reality of his statement, he could be pretty damn wise for a boxer. Laurel heard his whistley exhale through the speaker, the warm cadence of his breathing.

“Hey, kid?” He murmured, instead of responding Laurel simply waited.

“Give ‘em hell.” Ted said finally, she could hear the smile in his voice, she could feel so potently the warmth his words inspired in her chest. Sniffling once more, Laurel licked her lips as she found her voice.

“Always.” Laurel shot back with a smile. Ending the call, she stuffed her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. There was a city that needed saving after all. 

Joining Oliver and Diggle down in the foundry, Laurel was quick to change into her gear while the boys pored over the stolen schematics to the device. She was tugging on the delicate fishnet material of her gloves where she pulled up beside Oliver.

“If it comes to it, do you think you could disarm it?” Oliver asked, his arms folded over his broad chest, the canvas material of his suit’s sleeves bunched over the swell of his biceps.

“I picked up a thing or two from friends in explosive ordnance disposal while in Afghanistan.” The man explained, though Laurel could pick out the lack of a definitive answer.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Laurel asked, not keen on missing any details or assurances this close to the fateful hour.

“We have the schematics and the machine, while intended to create a seismic blast, still operates like an explosive...so, best case scenario we get ahold of the remote detonator and I won’t have to disarm it… worst case we don’t get the detonator and I have to turn it off manually.” Diggle elaborated and while none of the options were particularly tempting, Laurel took comfort in knowing that at the very least Diggle could turn the thing off.

“I’ll go get the van.” Diggle informed stiffly, his eyes lingering briefly on Oliver who seemed stoic at best and terrifyingly distant at worst.

“Hey,” Laurel coaxed, her hand came up to tenderly stroke Oliver’s cheek pulling him from the faraway look in his eyes, “We’re going to stop him.” She assured, smiling gently as she felt Oliver lean into the warmth of her touch.

“I want to believe that,” Oliver murmured, she could already feel him turtling back in on himself.

“Believe it.” Laurel countered, her chest aching at the tired smile he gave in return.

“Every time I’ve gone up against him-”

Laurel understood his worry, understood the way Merlyn had gotten in Oliver’s head, her fingers smoothing down his nape soothingly.

“You’ve got something now that you didn’t have before.” Laurel said firmly, her fingers tightening their grip on the back of his neck, her touch keeping him anchored in the present.

“You’ve got me.” Laurel swore tenderly, it was a victory in itself watching his stoic expression brighten into a smile, now they just had to stop Merlyn. Laurel grinned as Oliver swept her against his chest, leaning in to press his forehead to hers.

“That, I do, Pretty Bird.” He murmured, her face fitting perfectly between his palms. Laurel grinned, reaching up to scrub at the smear her lipstick had left on his mouth. She gave him some time to get changed, they’d meet Dig when they were both ready.

Laurel marveled at a display table of arrows, running her fingers over the hand painted arrowheads. There was a dedication to his craft, she thought, as she ran the callused pad of her thumb over the tip of an arrow. She could remember a time in her past when she would labor over those little wispy feathers she would leave at each crime scene, fingers stained black from the ebony dye. It was how she had gotten her name, the Black Canary. She knew Oliver seemed sort of disappointed at the lack of a clever name surrounding his vigilante persona, thinking on it then, it seemed sort of obvious, it was staring her right in the face…

Hearing the approaching thump of Oliver’s footsteps, Laurel turned to greet him. Her hand smoothing over the carbon fiber bow in his grasp, it was certainly different than the recurve bow - something Laurel never thought she would actually know, until Ollie taught her - he had used previously.

“You had a spare?” Laurel asked as she helped clip his quiver around his back. Oliver gave an affirmative nod.

“I got it on the Island, I always kept it just in case…” He shrugged, “I guess it was a back up, in case anything happened to the other one, I knew I had this one.” Oliver explained, slinging the bow around his body, freeing up his hands to pull up his hood.

Laurel gave Oliver one last smile, reality seeming to set in as the pair of them ascended the stairs exiting the foundry.

\---

Laurel stuck close to Oliver’s side as the pair of them ascended the stairs to Merlyn’s office. The same way any of the masks in the city had a hideout, good or bad, Merlyn was bound to have a spot to hang his hood.

Diggle was still close by, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity on the ground. He was set up in the van ready to assist at a moment’s notice.

Laurel grimaced at the hiss of broken glass beneath her feet as she and Oliver investigated the office. It was empty. Of course it was. It might’ve been too naive to think they would find the guy waiting for them in the building with his name written in big golden letters on the front. Laurel paused as she felt the cool tickle of a draft rise up from...from the wall?

What the hell was she thinking? Oliver hid his damn base of operations in the basement of a club, it wasn’t so beyond the realm of possibility to think Merlyn had set up shop in his place of business as well.

“Ollie?” Laurel called in a whisper, gaining her partner’s attention.

“What if Merlyn’s hiding in plain sight?” She asked, feeling his green rimmed gaze linger on her thoughtfully. Pulling her baton from her belt, Laurel shuffled closer to the source of the draft. Tapping the rounded end of her weapon against the wall, both vigilantes stiffened at the hollow thump that resounded.

“False wall.” Oliver supplied, resting a gloved hand against the paneling, he gave a push subsequently filling the dark office with light as an entrance appeared. Laurel grimaced as the wall swung back to reveal the man in question...Malcolm Merlyn. He stood before them wearing an expression of self righteousness. The shiver that cut through her had little to do with the cooler temperature of the hidden room. He truly believed in what he was doing which terrified Laurel more than anything, this was the same man that had spoken at Oliver and Robert’s funerals, the same man who begrudged her the horror of losing someone she loved so dearly...that man was threatening her city.

“The lovely couple has arrived, finally,” He drawled sternly, “I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to see you watch your city die.”

Laurel felt something tighten in gut, aside from the typical bad guy spiel, she could feel something was off. Something she couldn’t place her finger on.

“Where’s the transmitter?” Oliver asked in a growl.

“Somewhere I can easily get to it.” Malcolm sneered in return, though Laurel still couldn’t shake the feeling that Merlyn was hiding something. He’d been so forthcoming so far, yet, she could feel he was holding back. Slinking closer to Oliver’s side, Laurel dipped her head beside his slowly.

“He’s hiding something.” Laurel said in a barely audible whisper, she could feel Oliver stiffen beside her.

“The transmitter?” Oliver asked quietly in return, his gaze never deviating from Merlyn, who only seemed vaguely annoyed by their discussion.

“He just said he has the transmitter...it’s something else.” Laurel explained, she could feel Oliver tense at her side. Her gaze lingering on Oliver’s bow where his hand clenched around it...the bow, the  _ spare _ bow.

Malcolm gave a scoff, “Don’t be shy now children, share with the rest of the class.”

“You’ve got another device.” Laurel exclaimed, her voice loud enough to be heard by all occupants in the room. If there was one thing she had learned from her time in the courtroom, it was how to read someone, the undisguised crook of Merlyn’s mouth was telling. It was true. Of course a man as determined as Malcolm Merlyn wouldn’t take any chances to see his plan completed, he had to have a back up.

“Clever girl, I see why you keep her around,” Merlyn remarked, finally pulling out of their stalemate to back away from the pair, “No matter, you’ll both be too dead to stop it.”

Laurel ducked down as Oliver and Malcolm began to trade a volley of arrows, vases and ornate weapons were struck in the crossfire. Sucking in a short breath, her head buzzing with adrenaline, Laurel darted after Oliver as he gave chase. He was quick to round the corner of Merlyn’s little maze, too focused to dodge the oncoming knife that was hurled in his direction…

Shoving her partner aside without blinking, better her than him. Laurel hardly felt the bite of metal where the knife nicked slashed through the material of her suit, grazing her arm in a spidery thin wound.

Before she had the chance to lose her footing, Laurel felt Oliver’s arms come around her, steadying where he clutched. His blue eyes wide with panic where he stared down at her.

“Dinah…” He called quietly, desperately…

“I’m right behind you,” Laurel said with an affirming nod, it was just a flesh wound, she’d be fine. Glancing over Oliver’s shoulder Laurel could make out another hidden door, ajar where Malcolm had fled through it.

“Stairs.” Laurel indicated with a jerk of her chin, the last thing Oliver needed right now was to get distracted.

“Go get him.” She instructed, pleased as Oliver gave a nod in return, reluctantly prying away his firm grip on her.

Laurel let out a shaky breath as she watched Oliver’s broad back disappear through the hidden door. Fumbling for the earpiece John had set them up with, Laurel pressed down on the small push-to-talk button.

“Dig?” She called, listening as she heard the crackle of static.

_ “Laurel?” _ She heard her teammate’s voice through the earpiece.

“Merlyn’s got a second device.” She said quickly, bending at the waist to snag her baton on the floor before making a move for the hidden stairs.

_ “What?”  _ Her teammate called back in disbelief.

“I know, listen, I need you to go to Wildcat’s Gym in the Glades, okay-” Laurel instructed as she took the stairs two at a time, “Tell him I sent you, no one knows the Glades better than he does, if Merlyn’s got a second device hidden somewhere he’s your best chance of finding it.”

_ “Laurel-” _

Swallowing, she gave a watery smile up to the ceiling, chest warm, “For once in your life, I really hope you didn’t listen to me, old man.” Laurel hissed to herself as she approached the top of the stairs.

Laurel shouldered open the door that led to the building’s roof, wincing at the tingle of pain the impact sent up her injured arm. The door swung open with a groan revealing Oliver and Malcolm where they collided in a series of blows. A series of broken arrows scattered around their feet.

Sprinting forward, her baton in hand, Laurel didn’t hesitate as she leapt into the fray. She deftly ducked beneath the broad swipe of Malcolm’s bow. It was a familiar dance fighting alongside Oliver, her body attuned to his, even outmatched as they were, it felt like they operated on a frequency all their own.

It felt choreographed despite each stumble and hit they took, the way Oliver moved around her, moved  _ with  _ her.

Dodging and blocking, returning blows as best they could, though Merlyn didn’t make it easy. Laurel hissed as the curved limb of the other archer’s bow connected with her cheek, the side of her face throbbed as she spewed a mouthful of bloody spit to the ground. Laurel darted in close, using her baton defensively to block another swipe in her direction.

Oliver followed suit, using the limbs of his bow offensively, swinging in Merlyn’s direction only to be stunned by the harsh jut of the dull end of Merlyn’s scimitar to his gut. And therein lay the irony of their predicament, Malcolm didn’t want to kill Oliver or Laurel, as far she knew, he wanted them to live long enough to see their effort reduced to rubble.

She surged forward as Oliver stumbled back, using their momentum to leap feet first at Merlyn. They both staggered at the collision as she sprang back on her hands in time to avoid another hole in her suit. Jumping back on her feet, Laurel watched as Oliver dove relentlessly back at their adversary. She moved with him, sticking to his back as they battled.

Laurel ducked beneath the broad swath Merlyn cut through the air with his scimitar, grunting as his sword smacked her baton to the ground. The impact making the wound on her arm ache vibrantly.

Licking her lips, Laurel curled her hands into fists as the darkly dressed archer advanced on her. Groping at her hip, Laurel deftly slipped her fingers through the opening of her brass knuckles. Her knuckles blanched beneath the cover of metal as Merlyn swung at her again. A shower sparks filled the air where metal met metal. The blade bouncing off the guard of her brass knuckles as Laurel slipped in close. Her shoulders squared and fists up as she approached.

The weapon made a dull metallic thunk with every jab she connected with Merlyn. Blood trickled down from the split skin on the bridge of his nose. Laurel groaned as he swept her feet out from beneath her, her vision swimming with spots and breath fleeting from her lungs where she laid flat on her back. Springing back to her feet, her chest burning with exertion as she lunged at Malcolm once more.

Laurel stiffened at the creak of a bowstring being drawn taut, an arrow whistled through the air, the once green arrowhead turned red where it bursted from Merlyn’s chest. He staggered and choked on a breath as he finally sank to the ground.

_ Ollie… _

She watched as his hooded silhouette drew near as she kicked Merlyn’s scimitar far enough that he could reach for it. The man still wheezed out even breaths where he laid on the rooftop.

“The transmitter.” Laurel stammered as she and Oliver dropped down to search Malcolm for it.

“Where is it?” Oliver demanded even as Merlyn let out a cruel bark of laughter, watery trails of blood dripping from his lips. She patted down the various pockets of his ridiculous outfit, feeling for any sign of the transmitter.

“It’s not here.” Laurel hissed, panic beginning to set in, even if they had incapacitated Merlyn, they still needed to stop the devices he planned on using to level the Glades.

“Roll him over.” Oliver suddenly demanded, a look of revelation in his eyes. Laurel tugged the other archer onto his side despite the way he groaned in protest.

“Ollie…” Laurel murmured, her eyes finding his beneath the shadow of his hood.

“He said, the transmitter was somewhere he could easily get to it,” Oliver explained, reaching around to tear Merlyn’s quiver from his back, “What does an archer reach for more than his arrows?” Oliver asked rhetorically, a terribly hopeful look in his eyes as he upended the thing, spilling arrows and flechettes to the ground. Laurel gasped as Merlyn began thrashing in earnest.

“No! NO! This city needs to be rebuilt from ashes! It needs to be cleansed.” He snarled in protest.

Laurel held him still as Oliver finally withdrew his arm from the depths of Merlyn’s stolen quiver, the beeping transmitter clutched in his hand…

They stared, breath held as a timer counted down on the transmitter. Oliver’s hands shook as he flipped a switch to disarm the devices. Laurel watched with baited breath as the display timer froze...they did. They actually did it.

Lifting a trembling hand to the earpiece that was miraculously still lodged in her ear, Laurel pressed on the push-to-talk button.

“John?” She called breathlessly, jumping in surprise as his voice crackled in her ear almost immediately.

_ “You got the transmitter.” _ He said knowingly, relief clear in his voice.

“How did you-” Laurel began only to be cut off.

_ “For starters? I’m looking at the damn thing,”  _ He huffed through on the other end.

“You found it?” Laurel exclaimed, watching as Oliver’s eyes went wide in surprise.

_ “Yeah, well, that contact of yours checked out...old cat still had some fight left in him…”  _ Their teammate remarked and Laurel felt her chest burn with pride. Her eyes stinging with tears. They had done it, they had finally done it.

Laurel tilted her head to the sky as triumph swept over her, slumping against Oliver as she howled out a wild cry of relief, the sound carried higher and higher as it seemed to echo all the way into the clouds.

\---

The news was playing on a never ending cycle, filling every home in Starling with updates both Markov devices had been contained and confiscated; to be placed under lock and key where they would hopefully be decommissioned and dismantled. Malcolm Merlyn had been apprehended by police on the rooftop of Merlyn Global Group, but miraculously vanished while being transported by police.

The Glades for all of its faults had been saved by the city’s very own heroes, the Black Canary and the newly crowned  _ Green Arrow _ .

As for Laurel, having helped Oliver complete his mission and thwart Merlyn’s undertaking, there was still one more promise she wanted to follow through on.

Laurel grinned as she leapt into her partner’s arms, confident that he would catch, because he always did.

“Hey.” She purred, smirking as his boyish smile went hungry and wide.

“Hey, yourself.” Oliver hummed in return, his hands sinking devilishly lower than the waist.

“So, if I recall correctly,” Laurel began, dipping her head lower to playfully pinch his earlobe between her teeth, “There’s some celebrating in order.” His resulting laugh was husky and warm where it vibrated between them, electric and tingling as it stirred want in her.

“Pretty Bird, I thought you’d never ask.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. Hope you liked it, if so, feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, this first chapter ran kind of long.
> 
> Anyway, if you enjoyed this work, please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I always love to hear what my readers have to say.


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